Little Dark One
by sylverskie
Summary: An heir to the biggest American pureblood family comes to Britain to serve the Dark Lord...but things don't always go as planned. Rated M for rape, sex, violence, and teen pregnancy.
1. August, part 1

A/N: So my other story isn't working out right now... but I was inspired to write this one instead! There will be another few updates today, and then more later.

* * *

My name is Keaira Tynan. I am seventeen years of age, but unlike most seventeen-year-olds, I am a witch. No, that doesn't mean that I'm green skinned and cackle and dance around cauldrons to the pricking of my thumbs; it just means that I can do magic.

My family is one of the oldest pureblood clans in America. We fled the witch-burnings and settled down in a remote village in New Hampshire, along with six other magical clans. But I've always believed that it was a mistake to leave Britain, a mistake to support the rebellious "patriots", and a mistake not to go back. Now, with the Dark Lord rising anew, it is the time to go back and show our support for the old ways, when Mudbloods were in their rightful place and the world knew the might of the wizarding race.

Funnily enough, my parents agreed. I still remember the scene, as if it were occurring right in front of me.

I was called into my father's study. I was wearing my favourite white corset with black ribbon facing, and my boot-cut blue jeans with the Boston wash, as well as my black suede leather boots.

My long red hair was loose about my shoulders, framing my pale skin perfectly. My green eyes were swept with mascara and a light covering of green eyeliner.

"Yes, Father?" I said, stopping a respectful distance from him. Mother was standing behind him, and it looked like she had been crying. But Mother cries about everything.

"He looked up from the morning paper he had been examining. "We've had word from the Dark Lord," he said. "We are to send you to Britain."

My heart leapt. I gasped, my heart pounding. "Britain?" I squeaked. "I'm going to... Britain?"

Father nodded gravely. "Do you still wear the ring that you were given?" He was referring to the ring that I had possessed since I was a child; it was silver, with a green pearl and a white pearl set with diamonds.

"That was a promise from the Dark Lord himself," my father said. "When you were born, it was prophesised that a child of extraordinary power and beauty had arrived. The Dark Lord has plans for you, my daughter."

Mother burst into tears again. My gaze went from my father to the ring that, even now, sat upon my finger. I was struck speechless; Britain, the Dark Lord, extraordinary powers?


	2. August, part 2

Chapter 2.... already! Chapter 3 is coming up soon!!!

BTW, forgot the disclaimer... J.K. Rowling owns everything in this story except for Keaira and the events about to unfold.

* * *

And so there I sat, three weeks later, on a plane to London. I would be met with an entourage from one of the great British houses upon my arrival; the Malfoys.

And, sure enough, when I stepped out of the airport, there was a bored looking man with a handwritten sign – in what I have to admit was a rather elegant script – that read "Tynan". He took my bags without saying a word, then ushered me into the Bentley continental GT that was waiting.

"Oh-" I exclaimed, not expecting the young man who was waiting for me when I got in. He was fair-skinned, blonde, with ice-blue eyes. "Keaira Tynan," I said finally, extending my hand.

"Draco Malfoy." He shook my hand. I noticed a slight sneer on his face as he said it. "The Dark Lord is expecting you."

"Oh." I said in a small voice. Just a little intimidated.

We spent the rest of the ride in silence. I couldn't take my eyes off that most spectacular countryside; we went from city blocks to row houses to country fields. The sky – oh, that was another thing to watch; one could see the patches of sunlight many miles away shining through the ever-present rain, illuminating a little hill there or a stand of trees here... such a beautiful country had never existed in my mind until that moment when I looked out the window.

Eventually we pulled onto a gravel road that lead up to a tall and impressive house with Doric columns supporting a tall roof. The house itself was white granite, with a split staircase leading down to either side of an impressive stained oak door. There were a myriad of mirror-like windows peering down at the rolling lawns and the blue Bentley as it rolled down to a stop in front of the door.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," said Draco, stepping out of the car after it rolled to a stop in front of the door. I gaped at the tall, magnificent edifice, hardly noticing the rain. I followed Draco up one of the steps and through the front door.

The hall inside was dark compared to the outside; it was lit by crystal globes floating high near the ceiling, each containing a pale blue flame that burned without any visible fuel or smoke. The floor was polished marble, jet black with gold and white veins. The wall was dark mahogany panelling, with glowering pictures of past Malfoys staring disapprovingly down from the walls. There was a grand staircase sweeping down from a balconied second floor, and beyond the staircase a hall leading to a myriad of other rooms.

"Draco, you've returned." A graceful woman swept down the staircase. She wore an emerald green robe over a matching day dress that was cut in a deep V at her bosom and gathered loosely at her waist. "And you must be Keaira," she said, smiling at me in what she thought was a motherly fashion.

"Mrs. Malfoy," I said, smiling back and giving a little bow. "I'm so grateful for your hospitality."

"Oh, it's not a problem at all, dear," she said. "But you must hurry and change into something more... more appropriate. _He_ is waiting."

I followed her up the staircase and down a hallway lined with thick oriental rugs. Mine was the third door on the left; she opened the door, and I gasped.

My room at home had been anything I had wanted it to be. It had the canopy bed that every 12-year-old girl wished for, and the entertainment centre, and the walk-in closet bigger than some dining rooms. But this... mahogany panelling on the walls, a solid oak hardwood floor covered in a thick plush rug, and a king-sized bed with a burgundy eiderdown. One wall was covered in bookcases, and there were two doors that lead out of the room. My trunk was sitting at the end of the bed.

"I hope you'll find this apartment to your liking," she said smoothly. "He will be expecting you in the blue drawing room."

"And that is...?"

"Downstairs, second door on your left."

"Thank you," I said, smiling at her. She left, closing the door behind her.

I counted to three under my breath – just to make sure she was gone - and then squealed, running over to the bed and jumping onto it. It was so... so elegant, so refined, and so _British!_

I hopped down off the bed and ran over to a door, throwing it open. Behind the door was a white marble bathroom, with a bath sunk into the floor of gold-veined white marble. There was a glass-walled shower in the corner, and a toilet and sink that matched the bath.

I ran to the other side of the room and threw open that door. Inside was a walk-in closet filled with clothes – all in my size! There were two long clothes racks, one filled with dresses and skirts, one filled with robes. There were drawers lining the walls, as well as one wall completely devoted to shoes – everything from D&G to Converse.

I looked down at my travel-stained jeans and T-shirt ("Time is like a zombie – it moves slow, then suddenly "Boo! Got your brains!"), and looked at the clothes.

In three minutes I was dressed in a green dress with silver designs, with a pale silver robe over it.

I slipped my wand into my pocket and ran a brush through my hair. I checked my reflection in the mirror – good. Not my best – that could only be achieved through several bottles of hairspray and an hour in front of the mirror – but good.

I padded down the stairs in my silver ballet flats. Second door on the left. I took a moment, squared my shoulders, deep breath.... and pushed open the door.

It was like stepping into a royal court. There were at least a dozen death-eaters in the room, all talking between themselves in little groups, finely arraigned in black robes, silver masks, and black hoods. But anyone opening the door would find themselves at the base of a clear isle to the man in the winged-back armchair.

His head was smooth and bald, his skin greyish white and his eyes red slits. His nose was so flush to his skin as to be nearly nonexistent. He sat with a snakelike elegance, his robes draped over a slender yet muscular form. The overall effect was to set one so far off one's ease as to be nearly sideways.

"M-my lord," I said, curtsying.

"Ah," he said in a high-pitched voice that crackled with power. "Miss Tynan."

"My lord sent for me?" I squeaked.

"How fair our American allies?" he asked.

"Well," I managed. Barely.

He nodded to a chair next to his winged-back armchair. "Sit," he said.

I collapsed into the chair, aware of my heart pounding in my chest. He was at least two feet taller than any normal man, which meant he towered over my diminutive five feet.

The rest of the interview passed in a blur of noise and shapes. I was introduced to half-a-dozen of the highest ranked death eaters in the world; Lucius Malfoy, MacNair, the Lestranges, Crabbe, and Goyle.

And before I knew it, I was standing outside the door to the parlour, not knowing what the hell had just happened.

The door opened and closed again, and Mrs. Malfoy was standing there, beaming her brilliantly white smile at me. "Wasn't that lovely?" she said.

"Uh..." I began, but she interrupted.

"Dinner will be at five thirty in the Grand Dining Room, so hurry and get changed!" She swept away, and I was left to go upstairs.


	3. August, part 3

A/N: Second to last update for tonight... happy new year!

* * *

I had an hour and a half to spend before dinner, so I drew myself a warm bath and soaked, scrubbing away the dirt of travel and the sweat that comes with an eight-hour plane ride. There were bath oils, bubble bath soap, bath salts, three different kinds of shampoos and conditioners, gently scented lotions...

I got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a fuzzy towel, drying her hair with another. They were toasty warm after being on the magic warming racks. I brushed out her hair with a brass comb faced with mother-of-pearl, and then curled it with her magical curling iron – a gift from her mother a long time ago. I coated it with what had to be a whole bottle's worth of hair spray; then I pulled on the fuzzy bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and went to look again in the closet.

This time I chose a chocolate brown dress with a length of green satin belted about the waist.

I carefully exited my room, closing the door behind myself. I made my way down the hall and down the staircase. Draco was standing there, looking dashing in silvery-blue robes with silver fasteners.

He didn't say anything, but gave me a look that said completely "I'm only doing this because Mother expects it of me." I followed him silently behind the staircase and down the Persian-carpeted hallway to a grand door, which he pulled open, revealing a dining room of great magnificence.

It was like stepping into a room in Versailles, all gilt gold and mirrors. On the ceiling was painted a scene of the Gods, all in their splendour. But it wasn't until you looked carefully that one noticed that it was a less than harmonious scene: Venus, presenting the rose: Hephaestus, being thrown from the heavens: Minerva, being bested at weaving: Ceres, mourning the loss of her daughter: and Jupiter, caught by Juno at his philandering.

The Dark Lord, of course, was sitting at the head of the long, oak table beautifully inlaid with rosewood, with Mr. Malfoy on his right. Sitting next to Mr. Malfoy was Mrs. Malfoy, and Draco took a seat next to her. The Dark Lord languidly gestured to a seat beside him, and – not breathing – I walked down the length of the table, past the finely dressed gentry of the Dark Lord's court and to the seat on his left side.

The dinner was excellent: finest New York strip steak with a verblanc sauce, risotto with mushrooms, and for dessert, raspberry flan with chocolate ice cream. But I didn't pay attention to what I was eating: I was all too aware of the Dark Lord's eyes on me, all during dinner, though he spoke not a word to me.

"Draco, Keaira, you had better get up to bed!" Mrs. Malfoy announced late after dessert, as everyone talked amongst themselves. "Remember, you have school tomorrow!"

"Mother," said Draco, pained, "_please_."

"School? Tomorrow?" I was excited. The school had been described in a letter from the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, to my parents. Apparently it was a castle, deep in the Scottish highlands, filled with young witches and wizards from the ages of eleven to seventeen. These children were divided into four "houses" – Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Slytherin, as my father told it, was the one I would get into. Gryffindor was for blood traitors, like the infamous Harry Potter.

"Remember, Draco," said the Dark Lord, "Your task is of the utmost importance." I looked between the two, but there was nothing to read. Draco nodded, not meeting the Dark Lord's eyes, and stood. I followed suit.

I followed Draco down the hallway and up the stairs. He turned right, and I turned left.

"Tynan-" Draco called my name. I turned, to see him standing there. "Stay out of my way once we get to Hogwarts." And with that, he disappeared down the hallway.

I blinked, staring after him. What would make him say – oh yes. I was the Yankee hick, the intruder into his home and his life. With a sigh, I turned and walked away.


	4. September, part 1

A/N: This is the last update for tonight... warning: contains rape/unconsentual sex.

Consider yourself warned.

* * *

That night I dreamt of terrible things – darkness and shadows, consuming my family yet leaving them whole. There was a cloud hanging over the Wizarding world, a storm that was about to break.

Then, suddenly, I was standing in a clearing. The moon shone bright against the soft green moss, the trees creating shadows. There was a young child – a girl, with flowing red curls, standing before me.

I opened my mouth to call to her but no sound came out. I unsteadily stepped forwards, reaching out my hand – but before I could touch her, she turned, and looked at me through snake-like red eyes. She opened her mouth, showing pointed, sharp teeth, and hissed something. Then she smiled, suddenly all joy, and my heart melted.

"Mama!" she cried.

I jerked awake, my heart pounding and my breath coming fast. There was someone – someone in my room.

"Who's there?" I called, and suddenly he was standing beside me – the Dark Lord.

"My lord-" I began, but he put one pale-white finger to his nearly invisible lips.

"Keaira," he hissed softly. "I have a task for you."

"Anything, my lord," I said honestly, but a bit wary of why he would come to me in the middle of the night. I was surprised when he laid a hand on by bare shoulder – I wore only a tank top and flannel pants. "Sir," I began, sitting up, but with surprising strength he pushed me back down.

"Just lie still," he said, and in a flash the covers were drawn and he straddled my slender form. I was frozen in place, unable to move a muscle.

It hurt – oh yes, it hurt. Not just physically, either. I could never describe the invasion, the loss of privacy, the embarrassment and shame as he thrust himself into me, every movement he made so insidious and marring that I just wanted the world to go away, the walls to meld and melt and me... not to exist. That this could never have happened - should never have happened - that I could just walk away from my body and go far, far away from this place of shame and injury.

He left when he was finished, not looking back. I waited until the door closed behind him, then curled up and sobbed. I had been betrayed by the man who was to lead our kind to salvation. He had ruined me and left me to die here.

I cried and cried, feeling the stickiness between my legs and the cramps and pain where he had intruded. When the sun began to rise, so did I; I showered, scrubbing until my skin was rough and raw.

Who could I tell? Would anyone believe me? The Dark Lord said he had a task for me. Would anyone go against his orders? I mentally cringed at that thought. Disobey the Dark Lord?


	5. September, part 2

A/N: New chapter (obviously). Please R&R!!

* * *

I came back in to my room. In the hour and a half I had spent in the shower, my clothes had been folded and packed. I hadn't heard a sound: I guess that the house-elves – even my family all the way in the US had one – had been in the room.

There was something on my pillow. Hesitantly I approached it. It was a black silk rose, tied with a ribbon. On the ribbon was written, in shimmering burgundy lettering, _Sub Rosa_. I dropped it back onto the pillow like it was a glowing red coal.

I stood there a moment, and then went into the closet to get dressed. I pulled on jeans and a plain blue shirt and over that my woollen gray and black duster.

I opened my trunk and pulled out the box with my wand in it – elm, ten inches, with unicorn hair and dragon heartstring. It was warm to my touch, beautifully polished and shining. I rolled it between my fingers, wishing I knew what to do. I grasped it in my wand hand - my right hand - and pressed the tip into my left wrist. If only I had the nerve to do it... so often had I found myself in this same situation, wishing that I had the balls to just say the word and cut into my flesh, release the pressure inside that was always eating me up... Especially now, now that I didn't know what to do - what to say -

There was a knock at the door. I gently put my wand back in the box and the box in the trunk, and crept over to the door, carefully opening it. Mrs. Malfoy stood there, looking immaculate in sky-blue robes.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked, eying my wardrobe. "The train leaves at eleven."

I checked my watch - half past eight. "I'll get right on that," I said with false cheer. She turned to go -

"Mrs. Malfoy?" I called to her. She turned back. I opened my mouth - hesitated - how do I say this?

"Yes, dear?" The 'dear' sounded forced.

"I - I -" I stuttered. What to say, how to begin, _how do I say this...!_

"Thank you," I managed finally. "I had a great time." The lie was sticky like honey in my throat, but the truth - it was impossible to tell.

"You're welcome," She said, smiling her brilliant, two dimensional smile. She waved her wand once and the lid to my trunk closed; she waved it again and it levitated, following her out of the room and down the hall. I followed, trailing my hand down the banister on the staircase. Draco was standing near the open door, his trunk beside him.

The doorman took out his wand and levitated our trunks to the Bentley. Draco headed out without hesitation.

"Miss Tynan."

My heart stopped.

"Y-yes, milord?" I didn't dare turn around.

"Have a good year at Hogwarts," he said.

"Thank you, milord," I said, and nearly fled the place. As we pulled away in the Bentley, I glanced back at the stone palace and wished I had never come to the place.

After an hour or so of driving we entered London. Last night's events forgotten momentarily, I stared out the window, entranced by the sights I'd only dreamed about. There was the Millennium Bridge, across the Thames the Globe theatre, and in the distance Madame Justice above the Old Bailey; there were cobbled streets and British flags, flowers springing all about the gardens in front of Buckingham Palace.

And then we arrived at King's Cross. While towing our luggage through the platforms I stared at the vaulted ceilings, the trains, the people, and gawked at the accents and the bustle. Malfoy kept up a brisk pace, and though I dallied, I was keeping up with him. He paused for a moment next to one of the barriers that set apart platform 9 from platform 10, and I took that moment to catch up.

"Where do we go from here?" I asked, and he shoved me at the wall.

I stumbled backwards, expecting to hit the wall – but instead I kept falling until I landed on my behind. I stared at the barrier I had just – apparently – passed through. Malfoy emerged a moment later, looking as refined as always.

"Get up," he growled at me, and I obediently pushed myself up. I turned around, and my jaw fell open.

There was a scarlet steam engine puffing smoke, waiting at the edge of the platform. There were students, from prepubescence to my age, hugging their parents and saying goodbye to their families, hanging out the windows of the train and running up and down the platform. There was laughter and chatter and talk all around.

Malfoy was heading to a compartment of the train. I started to follow him, but he turned and glared at me. I stopped, remembering his words at the house, and then turned and walked down the train. I looked up at the windows until I found a compartment that seemed to be empty, and I boarded the train.

There were what seemed to be little rooms on either side of the main corridor. Some of them were filled with students, others empty. I slid open the glass door of the first empty compartment I came to and dragged my trunk in behind me and, with a huge effort, managed to lever it up onto the luggage rack. I closed the door behind me and chose the seat nearest the window.

It was then I realised that I'd never been on a real train before. Sure, I'd been on the T in Boston and the tube in Paris before, but not a real train. America could be so much more efficient with real trains connecting the cities. America could always be so much more efficient if it was more like Europe or Britain.

Damn oil company lobbyists.

I stared, unseeing, out the window. No matter how much I loved Britain, there was a little niggling bit of me that had only grown larger – much larger - from the events of last night. I frowned and dug deeper. What was it?

Homesickness.

I hadn't expected that.

Without thinking I reached up and wiped away a tear. Where had that come from? Suddenly I was angry at myself. This is what I'd been waiting for such a long time! How could I miss the place that I'd hated for so many years?

I slumped back, lying down on the bench. The train lurched into motion, steam whistle sounding as it left the station.

The train began to pick up speed, chugging along the tracks that lead out of the station and out of the city. The swaying of the carriage didn't help the fact that my eyelids felt like lead and my body was aching with exhaustion; soon I was dozing off, lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the train.


	6. September, part 3

A/N: Here's where we begin to learn a bit about her powers...

* * *

"Anything off the trolley, dear?"

I jerked awake at the sudden voice. I pushed myself upright, smoothing back my tousled hair.

"Um, no thanks," I said, my face red.

"First time?" the kind old lady pushing the trolley asked sympathetically.

"Um, yeah," I blushed even harder.

"And an American!" she said. "Well, I hope you have an excellent time here at Hogwarts!"

"Thanks," I mumbled.

She left, sliding the door closed behind her. I looked out the window, surprised at the scenery outside. Rain whipped the window; I saw a landscape of mountains and lakes and strange twisted trees, flashing by and disappearing beyond the window. I leaned my head against the cold window, feeling the refreshing chill against my flushed skin.

I looked into the eyes of my reflection, staring at the girl who stared back. She hardly looked familiar. There was movement in the depths of the pupils, something else staring back. I squinted, peering deeper, and it all came to focus...

There was me – undeniably, but older: I wore my favourite white dress, and my red hair hung loose about my shoulders. I was dancing, being spun about by... someone. A man. He was tall, slightly... not fat, but not fit; his dark hair was combed up in the front; and he had eyes of crystal-clear grey-blue.

As soon as I saw his eyes I felt this terrific sense of something- something indescribable. Something inspiring and warm that called to my soul and resonated inside my very being.

Hope.

I closed my eyes, burning this man into my memory, smiling at the glow inside. Then all of a sudden I came to my senses.

Dear gods, was I insane? I had a... a vision of some guy, and I expected myself to spend the rest of my life with him?! It defied all logic, all reason.

But then again, I was a witch, who cast spells under the light of the half-moon – the most magical and occult phase of the moon – using a magic wand. Who lived her life according to the movement of the planets and the signs in the heavens? Whose entire life was – come to find out – planned out by her father and the Dark Lord and some stupid prophecy? Gods above AND below! Reason? Logic? What the hell were they doing in my life?!

Well, fuck that shit. Like I was going to be anyone's good girl. That – along with my virginity, I thought sarcastically – had been left behind last night. Keaira Tynan was nobody's girl now except her own.

"Damn straight." I muttered to myself.

I sighed and looked out the window. Darkness was coming on fast, turning the landscape into something dark and foreboding, filled with shadows and the last gloamings of a twilight masked by clouds. How very poetic.

-------------

It didn't seem that long before we reached Hogsmead Station. I had changed into my school uniform – a knee-length, pleated skirt, collared shirt and tie, and a school blazer, all topped with a plain black school robe. I joined the masses of students piling off the train and streaming down the station, staring in awe at the station, the train, the surroundings, the students – and the huge man carrying a lantern calling "Firs' years! Firs' years, come with me!"

Unsure if I qualified as a first year student, I hesitantly approached him. "Excuse me, sir-" I began, but he interrupted.

"Are you Tynan?" he asked me, nearly shouting over the din of the students around us.

"Yes," I said.

"Follow me!" he said, and I was pulled into his wake as he waded through the crowd. He must be a giant – he towered head, shoulders, and torso above my 5 feet – I thought as I followed him. However, when the rest of the first year class caught up, I stuck out like a sore thumb, head and shoulders above the rest of the 11-year-olds. Strange to think that I had once been as small as they, and only five years ago at that!

We followed a small path through the forest to the edge of a lake. A vast expanse of water, it lapped right at the foot of the castle.

And what a castle – my breath was stolen away instantly at the sight of it, its spires and towers soaring so high, so high – it seemed every window was light with a candle, and every wing a thousand windows, and a hundred wings to this... this magnificent edifice that completely engulfed the night sky.

"Four to a boat!" the giant was shouting, and I tore my eyes away to see a fleet of small dinghies bobbing in the water. I piled in with three tiny first years, and it was to my private dismay that we were rather lower in the water than the rest of the fleet. But that moment was gone quickly, and my gaze was drawn back up to the castle.

When we reached the other side of the lake I realised that the castle didn't actually come down to the lake, but that we had simply reached a cliff and a little pebbled shore.

The giant led us on a little path up the cliff face and up to the castle itself. We all grouped around him as he stepped up to a great oak door, raised his massive fist, and knocked loudly three times.

The door creaked open, revealing a stern-looking woman with silver hair pulled back in a bun, a black pointed hat pinned onto said hair.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid respectfully. "And the Tynan girl," he added. I flushed crimson and wished he hadn't said anything.

"Thank you, Professor Hagrid," she said, and ushered them in.

The entrance hall was amazingly, impressively huge. Magical, smokeless torches hung in sconces on the walls, and a grand marble staircase faced them at the other end of the hall.

Professor McGonagall lead them into a small chamber to the left of another pair of grand double doors, behind which noise and chatter denoted that the rest of the school was already in there, waiting.

She began a well-practiced speech about the four houses, the Sorting, and finished with "I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." She left without another word, and we were left to wait.

Immediately after she had left the room exploded into whispers. I knew, of course, from reading Hogwarts: A History – the most boring book in existence – about the houses and the sorting hat and everything – but by the sound of it, they hadn't.

Nor were they expecting the ghosts that floated out of the walls, who seemed to be having a conversation.

"-and I do say, it hasn't been this bad since the last time –"

"-What do you expect? He's risen again –"

My stomach flopped as I realised what they were talking about. But luckily they noticed what they were floating above –

"My goodness, is it that time again?" A fat, jolly-looking man in a friar's habit was the first to see them.

"First years!" Another ghost cried. "And – how old are you, my dear?" He was addressing me.

"Sixteen," I said, internally grimacing. Why oh why...

"A yank!" said another. "How quaint!" I scowled, this time visibly. A ghost in a Tudor ruff and hose came to my defence.

"Do leave her alone, Henry," he said jovially. "It's not the first time we've had a transfer student!"

At that point, thankfully, Professor McGonagall came back in. "Form a line," she instructed us, "and follow me."

We did so, following her again, but this time she led them through the second set of double doors, and into the Great Hall.

* * *

A/N: Like it? Didn't like it? Please R&R!!

BTW, I did model the man in her vision after Paul McGillion (Stargate: Atlantis, Just Breathe, X-Files, etc.)


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